Where the Heart Leads (22 page)

Somehow, it wasn't right.

But what good would it do to shout out the truth? Would it help Arthur Sawyer to learn that his hero was a fake? Would it help her if the world knew what she'd endured in the black room?

Moira gave Yancey a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Black room? I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Yancey. “My late husband was as heroic as all of the characters he brought to life, and I will always treasure my memories of our lives together.”

He patted her hand and got up to leave. “Good girl. Eat your chicken. I gotta go make some phone calls.” He indicated his shirt pocket. And by the way, I've got you on tape. Don't change your story.”

Moira watched him go out the door, then exhaled and slumped against the back of the booth. Then she pulled her cell out of her purse to call Rafe and report in. Maybe they could go out to dinner before the show to celebrate.

Moira cleaned a mat of golden dog hair out of the lint filter and moved a load of heavy denims into the dryer. Astrid was off at another Sunday afternoon dog-training class, but this time she'd left Ivanhoe at home, and the poor dog was following her everywhere like an abandoned child.

She stared at the jeans jumbled together in the machine as if they were a conglomerate eight ball.

Why in the world had Rocky told Yancey she was suicidal? Sure, she hadn't made time to see Rocky much lately. Partially because the show was taking up so much of her time, but mostly because of what Enid and Carmen had told her. And maybe a little bit because she still felt guilty about laughing at Rocky's stories.

She closed the dryer door and turned it on. It heaved into action, groaning like one of Delilah's restroom elephants.

Now to toss a chunk of detergent into the washer and dump in her underwear. How strange—even with the evidence piling up, it was hard for her to let go of the image of Rocky as her friend. She had been so much fun, but she could also be mean—like when she told her and Astrid about Rafe and Travis's cow-pat war. And then there were the stories about Phil and Vashti—and even Carmen.

But, hey, maybe Fleurette had misunderstood. Maybe the laughing girl was just pulling the leg of the big-city reporter, seeing how far she could go. Maybe Rafe and Beth had had a few little spats, and Rocky had exaggerated them.

She closed the washer lid with a bang.

Whatever it was with Rocky, she didn't like it, and she'd call Rocky as soon as she finished the laundry. Maybe they could get together at Starbucks on Monday and hash this thing out. It was
not
funny.

Ivanhoe growled and pushed at her leg.

She reached down to pet him. “Don't worry, boy. The dryer always makes that groaning noise, remember? You should have gotten used to it by now.”

Ivanhoe turned toward the door and barked. His ruff was up and his ears were peaked forward.

Moira sighed. This was all she needed—the dryer acting like it was in its death throes and the dog acting like she was under attack.

“Ivanhoe, sit! No one can come in the house. The doors are locked”

The mastiff obeyed, but he didn't want to.

A sixth sense told her to look up.

Rocky was standing just outside the door of the laundry room, a big smile on her face, a pistol in her hand. She lifted the gun and pointed it at Moira. Her fingernails were decorated with yellow daisies on a purple background.

“You made me do this. I really didn't want to, but I can't have you standing between me and the C Bar M.”

Moira tried to think of something to say, something that would make Rocky put down that gun—was it for real?—but Ivanhoe took instant action.

Snarling out a great war cry, he leapt at Rocky's arm. The shot went wild and the gun dropped to the laundry room floor.

Moira peeked out the laundry room door as Rocky ran down the hall, with Ivanhoe, barking like an avenging angel, behind her. Then, with a steadying hand on the wall, she walked to the front door and called Ivanhoe in.

A glance told her that Rocky's Jeep was halfway down the street and traveling fast.

After giving one last triumphant bark to the world in general, Ivanhoe trotted back into the house, obviously very pleased with himself.

Moira closed the door and knelt down to love on the big dog and tell him how wonderful he was. He
should
be pleased with himself. He'd saved her life.

Oh God, he'd saved her life!

A shock wave hit her, and she staggered to the couch in the family room.
Rocky, her friend Rocky, had tried to kill her. Little Moira Farrar, who'd never harmed a person in her life. No one, not even Colin, had ever tried to kill her before.

A siren traveled down the street and stopped abruptly in front of the house. Walking slowly, as if through water, Moira went to the living room window and looked out.

A uniformed policewoman was coming up the walk. Calling on every ounce of energy she had left in her, Moira put Ivanhoe outside and met the woman at the door.

“I'm Officer Joann Gerbig with the Bosque Bend Police Department.” She produced an identity card. “May I come in?”

Moira stood aside and the woman walked into the hall. “Your neighbor reported hearing a gunshot from within your house.”

Moira nodded. “It was Rocky—Rocky McAllister.” Her words came out slowly.
Was that her own voice? It sounded strange to her ears—like she was speaking into an echo chamber.
“She tried to kill me. She said I made her do it because of the C Bar M. Ivanhoe knocked the gun out of her hand.”

Officer Gerbig looked around. “Where's Ivanhoe? I'll need to interview him.”

“He's a dog—the one making the ruckus in the backyard. The gun is still on the laundry room floor, if you want to see it.”

“Have you moved it?”

Moira shuddered. “I didn't want to touch it.”

The policewoman eyed a piece of pink paper on the floor on the floor of the hall.

“Where did that come from?”

“I think Rocky must have dropped it when she was leaving, but I didn't want to touch it either.”

The officer picked up the page by a corner, glanced at it, then showed it to Moira. “Did you write this?”

Moira looked at it. The note was typed, but the signature was a reasonable facsimile of her own.

She shook her head in denial.

“No, I didn't write it, but I gave Rocky an autograph for her mother on paper like this.”

Officer Gerbig shook her head. “It would have been easy enough for her to wrap your hand around the grip, then run back across to the neighbor and say she found you that way.”

Someone knocked at her door. The policewoman opened it cautiously, and Bertie Fuller rushed in to embrace Moira.

“Oh, Moira, I'm so glad you're okay, that you didn't do it after all! When Rocky left, she said she was going to drop in on you and try to get back the pistol she'd lent you because you were so depressed about the show and the way Rafe has treated you—that man should be hanged—that you would…I was so afraid that…that…”

Officer Gerbig finished Mrs. Fuller's sentence for her. “Bertie called 911 and said she thought you had killed yourself.”

Mrs. Fuller looked around. “Where's Rocky?”

Rafe picked up a hat and started walking down to Travis's house to meet up with Mervin Hruska and open up Travis's house. He could have saddled up Sarge, but the winter sun was shining, Travis's house was less than a mile off, and on the way, he could enjoy seeing the new calves frolicking in the front pasture.

Mervin wouldn't tell him why he needed to get into the house—just said it was routine police business and he hadn't been able to locate Rocky.

He walked around to the front of the house and found Mervin, Jose Mercado and Terrence Craddock waiting for him on the porch steps. This must be more serious than Mervin had indicated. Joe and Terrence were his senior deputies.

He tipped back his hat. “What's goin' on?”

Mervin lifted himself off the step. “Criminal investigation, Rafe. We got a call from the Waco police department this morning. It turns out Travis's gastritis is arsenic poisoning. We need to search the house.”

“Arsenic? We don't use any on the ranch.”

“What about in the barn to kill the rats?”

“No way. We trap them. Couldn't be well water either because Travis is the only one who's sick. And we cleared out all the treated wood after construction.”

“Then we've got to search the house.”

“You're sayin'…”

Jose leaned back against the porch post and put in his two cents. “Maybe Rocky got tired of Travis sniffing after Micaela Atherton all the time and thought a good dose of arsenic would keep him at home.”

Mervin shot his deputy a disapproving glare. “I'm not saying anything except that we need to search the house.”

Rafe reached in his pocket for the keys. “Go to it. Mind if I stick around?”

Mervin unlocked the door and walked in. “We want you to. You own the property.”

Rafe looked around the comfortable living room. He had good memories of this house. This was where he and Beth had begun their marriage. It had been an idyllic summer, a three-month honeymoon. He hoped Mervin would find some way Travis could have ingested the arsenic by mistake—maybe a mislabeled box.

Mervin sent Jose and Terrence into the bedrooms and started going through the kitchen himself. Rafe followed after him and watched as he unloaded the utility shelves beneath the sink.

Jose's suggestion that Rocky had deliberately poisoned Travis was preposterous. But this business of her telling the reporter that Moira was suicidal was just as preposterous.

God, he'd known Rocky almost her whole life, but how well did he really know her? Maybe there was a reason Mom had never quite taken to her.

Mervin lifted something out from behind a solid row of cleaning supplies.

“Found it.”

The box of arsenic was clearly labeled and had been opened.

Rafe went numb.

Terrence called from the front bedroom. “Chief, you'd better come see this.”

Rafe followed Mervin into Rocky's bedroom. Terrence was standing by her rolltop desk, holding a piece of pink paper in his hand. “This might be interesting to you too, Rafe.”

Rafe looked over Joe's shoulder and read a pink page signed several times by a poor rendition of Moira's handwriting.

“It's a damn suicide note, and it doesn't make any sense. That isn't Moira's writing.”

Mervin's lips compressed to a thin line. “Looks like someone was practicing for a better version. We've got to get somebody over to Moira's house ASAP.” He hit his shoulder mike. “Hruska here. Get a squad car to…Yeah…Yeah…Moira Farrar?…Yeah…Rocky McAllister?…Really?…Twenty minutes ago?…Which direction?…”

Mervin clicked off his mike. “Moira is safe. Rocky took a shot at her about half an hour ago, but her dog saved the day. Joann Gerbig is with her now.”

Rafe sat down on the nearest chair he could find. Rocky had not only poisoned Travis, but also had tried to kill Moira? He buried his face in his hands, trying to comprehend, to understand.

Rocky, whom he had welcomed into his home and family, whom he had trusted to babysit his child, who had consoled him after Beth's death.

God in heaven, what sort of person was she? How could she feed Travis arsenic, then tend him like Florence Nightingale? How could she act so friendly to Moira, then try to kill her?

Rafe's brain rocketed back three years, and the specter of Beth lying on the ground as if she were asleep, the back of her head matted with blood, rose up in front of him.

His gorge rose. Three years ago, the tree house ladder was still usable, and Rocky was a crack shot. Could she have killed Beth? No, that was unthinkable. Beth was her friend.

But Moira was supposed to be her friend too, and Travis was her husband, whom she had promised to love, honor, and cherish.

A car come up to the house, then burned rubber as it drove past. The fog on Rafe's his brain cleared in a flash. He knew the sound of that engine.

“That's Rocky! She must have seen the squad car!”

Mervin looked around at his deputies. “Terrence, you stay here in case she comes back, and call Dispatch for someone to get hold of her cousin in San Saba and see what he has to say. Jose, you come with Rafe and me.”

Rafe had a clear view of Rocky as Mervin drove around the trees in front of the house, and he wasn't surprised to see her run into the corral, haul herself up on Bella's bare back, jump the fence, and take off down the road.

Mervin screeched the squad car to a halt beside the barn and got out, then just stood there in the middle of the road and watched as Rocky disappeared down the turn in the tarmac. Rafe knew exactly what Mervin was thinking—that she'd be over a fence in no time, and the car couldn't handle a pasture fast enough to catch up with her.

His temper erupted. Like hell he was going to let Rocky get away from them!

He shoved his door open and leapt out. “What are you waitin' for, guys? Let's saddle up and go after her!”

But she'd already disappeared from view and they didn't know which way she'd gone. There were more than a dozen pastures down the road to choose from.

T
he bulls were in the west pasture so Rafe headed north, Mervin went off to the east, and Jose went the south. They only had about three hours of daylight left, but that would be enough if Rocky were still on the ranch.

God, how could Rocky do it? Try to kill Travis and Moira, and maybe have killed Beth? He'd known her since they were kids, and he didn't know her at all.

By sunset, Rafe had checked out four pastures, but all he'd seen were cows.

He pushed back his hat. Rocky knew every inch of the ranch and could hole up in it for days. But more likely, she would go cross-country from pasture to pasture until she got somewhere no one would recognize her. Depending on the terrain, Bella was good for thirty miles a day, which meant Rocky could reach Waco cross-country in a few hours. Then all she'd have to do was set Bella loose and hook up with a friendly truck driver, and she'd be out of the state in no time.

Of course, friendly truck drivers weren't always safe, but he'd bet Rocky could take care of herself.

He glared into the western sun. It would be coming dark in half an hour, and horses don't come equipped with headlights. He might as well call it a day.

He pulled out his cell. “Merv. I'm in two-eighteen and haven't seen a damn thing. There's a big stand of trees across the river I want to check out, but that's it. Any luck on your end?”

“Nope. I'm in three-sixty, next door to you, and it's clear as far as I can tell. But we did hear from Rocky's cousin. Seems that the last time Rocky was in San Saba, she told his wife you were sweet on her, and she was gonna make sure the next C Bar M heir was half Colby, but she had to take care of a few problems first.”

Rafe could feel the anger rising in him again.
Problems
—she meant Travis and Moira. But where the hell did Rocky get the idea that he had a thing for her? Crap—that extra attention he was giving her because Travis was trailing after Micaela.

“My God, Merv. That woman is puredee evil. She poisoned Travis and took a potshot at Moira because of the ranch?”

A horse screamed across the river.

“Merv! Did you hear that?”

“Hear it—damn near blew out my eardrums!”

“How soon can you get here?”

“Four minutes, tops. Can you pinpoint where the horse is?”

“Under a stand of live oaks below the cliffs on the other side of the river. You'll see it.”

“I'm heading your way. Wait till I get there before you do anything.”

“Be careful. There's a heavyweight panther around here somewhere.”

Another scream rent the air as Rafe clicked off his phone. To hell with it. He was going over there on his own. That was Bella, and she sounded angry. He lifted his shotgun out of its scabbard and laid it across the saddle in front of him, just in case.

Mervin caught up with him at the river's edge. “Good, you've got that big ol' shotgun of yours. All I have is my regulation peashooter, and I have a feeling that's not gonna do the job.”

Rafe nodded, shifted the shotgun across his arm, and urged Sarge forward into the water. Another scream, even louder, cut through the evening air. God, he didn't like that horse, but he wouldn't wish that kind of torment on anyone.

He cleared the river and edged forward, with Mervin right behind him. The horses were breathing hard. This was panther territory.

What's that—?
Something was thrashing up ahead in the shadow, something white.

He narrowed his eyes.

It was Bella. Beautiful Bella.

Blood ran down her neck, her head whipped back and forth with rage, and her right front leg folded under her every time she tried to get up.

And on her back was the biggest panther he'd ever seen.

The cat opened his mouth and roared out his possession of the downed horse.

Rafe lifted his shotgun and took aim. The shot boomed across the pasture, and the panther yowled and flew up into the air, twisted as if it were trying to land on its feet, and fell to the ground with a thump.

The pasture was silent for a second. Then Bella rolled her eyes and screamed again, flailing her broken leg.

Mervin dismounted to do what had to be done. Aiming carefully, he put her down with a single shot between the eyes. She collapsed onto the ground in mid-scream, her flowing mane matted with blood.

Mervin holstered his gun, looked around, and fastened his gaze on a bloody lump off to the side in the shadows.

Rafe recognized the purple shirt Rocky had been wearing when he'd seen her ride out to check nose flaps this morning. She'd been trampled into the dirt. The two men looked at each other. The glen stank of death. Mervin spat onto the ground and slapped his hat on his thigh.

“Far as I can see, the horse threw Rocky and killed her, breaking her own leg in the process. Then the cat dropped down on the horse—or something like that. We'll never know.”

He put his hat back on his head and surveyed the scene again. “Crazy horse, crazy woman, hungry cat—that's a lethal combination.”

Moira went backstage and gave out ten-dollar Starbucks gift cards to the cast as her Christmas present, then claimed the seat she'd reserved in the middle row, center.

This was the final performance, and tonight, for the first time, she felt free to doff her director cap and take in the show as a member of the audience, as someone who wanted to see a happily-ever-after musical that would warm her heart and send her home humming catchy tunes.

The lights went down, and Rafe marched across the stage, slapping his truncheon, and the audience exploded. He was a local hero now, the guy who had killed the panther.

Next came the street scene and the real action began. Moira absorbed the fantasy with a hungry heart. She needed it. She needed escape, to overwhelm the image of a charming, curly-haired imp with a pistol in her hand. To forget for a few hours that Waco had matched the bullet that killed Beth with one of the rifles Mervin had sent off to them. And that Mervin had been talking to Rafe about exhuming his father's body. And that Enid had told her Rocky's mother had requested that her daughter's belongings be shipped to her, then tried to guilt Rafe into giving her some kind of lump sum payment for the house.

Ninety minutes later, Jim and Della, dressed to the nines, were celebrating New Year's Eve by walking along the avenue again.

The audience applauded, and Moira repeated the words to herself.
Times may be tough, times may be rough, but there's always a way, always a way, always a way if you love enough.

Rafe came out in front of the curtain and went through his routine again, ending with the usual four smacks of his truncheon. Then he added a new twist, throwing it into the air and catching it.

The auditorium vibrated with sound—applause, whistling, stomping of feet, then the obligatory standing ovation.

The curtain calls were even stronger than on opening night. She noticed. Everyone was getting thunderous applause, even Phil.

She also noticed that Sergio and Buck weren't part of the lineup.

Apparently when Sergio had said he and Buck might be leaving right after the show was over, he meant it. The theater guild would lose the Overton Department Store's two-page spread, but she wished Sergio well. New York musical theater was a hard nut to crack, but Sergio had the talent to do it.

Eight days later, Moira stood in the hall outside the auditorium and watched as Astrid, Carmen, and Donna Sue walked up onstage single file and took their places opposite Rafe's groomsmen.

She would never have guessed a formal wedding could be put together in less than a week, but Rafe had wanted them to be able to spend Christmas together as a family. And he knew the strings to pull to arrange it.

The piano medley of classic love songs came to an end and Vashti struck the opening chords of “Love Triumphant,” then nodded in the white-robed
Gift of the Magi
chorus, which was standing on risers at the back of the stage.

That was her cue. Moira caught her breath.
Here I go.

She took Johnny's arm, and they started their long walk down the aisle. She'd had qualms about asking Johnny Blue to give her away, but so far he'd stayed sober.

Her eyes focused on Rafe and Delilah waiting for her onstage.

They'd talked over venues for a couple of days before finally deciding to rent out the museum auditorium. As Rafe explained, they needed someplace big enough to seat every Schuler and McAllister for miles around, the cast and crew of
Gift of the Magi
, and everyone else Rafe had ever known

Astrid, of course, was her only family member present. Gram and Gramp weren't comfortable flying anymore, and Kimiko hadn't responded to the invitation.

Her mind hearkened back to her first marriage. Colin had flown her off to Tahiti for a quickie wedding and a honeymoon spent touring the local nightspots. It was the first time they'd had sex, and he'd been almost too gentlemanly. In fact, she'd wondered if he was really that interested in her. Where was the passion that leapt out of the screen and sent every woman in his audiences into raptures?

Rafe, on the other hand, was marrying her in his hometown under the watchdog eye of the community. And she
knew
he was interested in her. Enid had taken Delilah for the weekend, and they'd burned up the bed last night.

Johnny walked her slowly up onto the stage, taking care that her long satin gown didn't snag on the corners of the steps.

She'd suggested to Rafe that a short dress might be more appropriate for a second marriage, but Rafe had opted for the full monty.

“It's gonna be a family reunion,” he explained. “We gotta put on a good show.”

The song swelled to its climax as Rafe stepped forward to claim her. She glanced across at his groomsman—Travis, Mervin, and Uncle Omar. Yes, it was a family reunion, and in a few minutes, she'd be part of that family.

Moira McAllister. It had a nice ring to it.

Rafe came over to her, holding Delilah by the hand, and Moira handed her flowers to Astrid so she could take Delilah's other hand. They wanted her to understand that she was part of the wedding too.

The minister stepped forward and recited the classic words: “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here this day…”

Moira blanked out and didn't come back to consciousness until she heard the minister pronounce them husband and wife.

They exchanged a chaste kiss over Delilah's head, then turned to their audience.

She looked out over the friendly faces and realized she'd committed herself not only to Rafe, but also to Bosque Bend. This would be her home from now on. Her friends would be here, and she'd raise her children here. It would be the center of her universe.

She smiled a real smile, a smile of appreciation, and blinked away the tears that were clouding her vision. Bosque Bend had given her more affirmation than she'd had in her whole so-called career. She loved this little town with its football mania, its Pumpkin Party, its Six-Shooter Junction. She loved the Athertons, the Fontaines, Pendleton Swaim, Donna Sue, Josie Apodaca, Billie Joe, Phil and Judy, Percy and Deborah, Travis, Enid, and everyone else she'd met.

But she loved Rafe McAllister most of all. She looked at her husband and squeezed his hand, and he gave her a smile that promised a lot more.

But first would come the party.

Rafe waved at the crowd.

“Y'all, thanks for comin'. We're gonna be leavin' tomorrow to spend Christmas with Moira's folks in Pasadena, but I gotta tell you, I sure will miss seein' ol' Omar dressed up as Santa Claus and singin' ‘You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog' again this year.” The audience gave him a deep-voiced belly laugh. “But before you leave tonight, we want y'all to celebrate with us. There's a full spread in the boardroom across the hall—no champagne, but plenty of soda water, G&G chicken, and a great big ol' weddin' cake from the Loughlin Bakery. But I'd appreciate it if you'd let us get over there first.”

As Vashti played the recessional, they walked off the stage, out of the auditorium, and crossed the hall.

The receiving line took forever, starting with Enid, who dabbed her eyes and told Moira she'd already added her picture to the collage. Next in line was TexAnn, who welcomed Moira to the family, then took Delilah off with her so “you and Rafe can have a one-night honeymoon.” Following TexAnn were the Fontaines, who actually embraced her. Travis and Micaela were farther down the line.

“We're going to be setting out for Nashville after the New Year,” Travis said. “I think Jimbo Crane can take over from me. He did a good job while I was down.”

Rafe nodded. “Can't say I didn't see it comin', Trav. You know we wish both of you the best of luck. Keep in touch.”

Every member of the
Gift of the Magi
cast was there, and Moira met enough Schulers to populate a small state plus a good number of McAllisters.

The line finally petered out, and she could relax her smile muscles. Maybe she could even snag a piece of that cake, if there was any left.

Rafe leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Ready to go? I think it's about time for our weddin' night.”

All thought of food flew out of Moira's mind and she took his arm.

Big Red won out over cake any day of the week.